


Open to My Eyes

by andmynewlymeltedheart



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Contemporary AU, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-12-29 20:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andmynewlymeltedheart/pseuds/andmynewlymeltedheart
Summary: “It’s a nice thought,” he said, “to think that beautiful things like this can still happen after so much pain. Do you know what I mean?”





	1. Ceremony

**Author's Note:**

> Nikolai and Marya’s Wedding.

The nuptials that brought her here were nothing short of lovely, draped in simplicity and stillness. Quiet declarations of love and caring and eternity had brought her and many others throughout the church into a quiet state of euphoric weeping. Natasha, who was standing up front as part of her duties as maid of honor, was rather embarrassed at her own tears and tried to quickly and inconspicuously wipe them from her cheek. She thought she was successful, until she caught the eye of the best man who was, as she noticed, caught in a similar predicament to her own. Pierre smiled softly at her, and Natasha smiled back. After a moment, they turned their attentions back to the ceremony.

  
The wedding party posed for a crop of photos, first with all of the bridesmaids and groomsmen, then after that a couple with the maid of honor and the best man, and then soon after just the bride and groom. Pierre and Natasha sat in a pew at the instruction of the photographer, who said she wanted a few more shots of everyone together.

  
“They look happy,” Pierre stated simply, “Marya…I’ve never, never, seen her this happy. Nikolai’s a lucky man.”

  
“And Marya’s a lucky woman. Nikki loves her so much.” Natasha looked at Pierre, his arms folded over his stomach, a dreamy look present in his eyes.

  
“It’s a nice thought,” he said, “to think that beautiful things like this can still happen after so much pain. Do you know what I mean?”

  
“Mmm.”

  
“It sort of makes you–”

  
“Another photo with the whole group, if you don’t mind,” the photographer asked, interrupting Pierre.

  
Pierre stood up first and offered Natasha his hand as she scooted out of the pew, one hand bunching the skirt of her dress together so as not to trip, and she accepted it gratefully. They walked back up toward the front of the church, and Natasha only realized as they were directed to their places for the photos that she had not let go of Pierre’s hand. She cleared her throat and released it, and noticed that Pierre’s face had turned a light shade of red. Nikolai gave Natasha a knowing look, to which she responded with a stern glance that seemed to say “it’s nothing, leave it.” He raised his eyebrows and chuckled with pursed lips, which Natasha found endearingly obnoxious, a common sentiment that she felt toward her brother.

  
As the camera shuddered its last few snaps, the sound of the chattering crowds that had gathered outside of the church began to dissipate, indicating the move to the backyard reception that awaited them at home. Pierre and Natasha followed as Marya and Nikolai climbed into the limousine.

  
“Pierre,” Nikolai asked as he was getting in, a sly grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, “could you drive Natasha back to the house? The photographer wants to take a few photos of us in the park, so we won’t be at the reception for a little while yet.”

  
“Of course, yes. Is that alright with you Tasha?”

  
“That sounds fine,” Natasha said, shooting another stern look at her brother.

  
“Great, you two have fun…” said Nikolai, his grin spreading wider, and Marya gave him a little smack on the stomach. She looked at Pierre, whose face seemed to turn a deeper shade of red with every passing second.

  
“Drive safely. We’ll see you there?” Marya asked.

  
“You drive safely, too,” he said, tapping the side of the car.

  
“Pierre…” Marya replied, concern evident in her voice.

  
“I’m…I’ll try,” he offered, noticing the crestfallen look that was beginning to fill out the features of her face. She smiled at him, a halfhearted attempt, and the driver started the car, taking the newlyweds off toward the nearby park. Pierre noticed a glance from Natasha, her usual worried look, and pretended to be unaware of her gaze. He sniffed, cleared his throat, and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, where they fell into their usual crooked position.

  
Pierre and Natasha started toward Pierre’s car, a decrepit Crown Victoria that had been his father’s, falling apart but “still in perfect working condition,” as Pierre always said. He helped Natasha into the car, and pushing the hem of her dress in toward her feet so as not to close it in the door. Natasha adjusted herself, lightly tossing her back at her feet and quickly kicking off her shoes, sighing with relief. She leaned her head back onto the worn leather headrest, which had seemed, after so much time spent in it over the last few weeks, to form exactly to her. She closed her eyes for a moment, her mind wandering, wandering...

  
Pierre climbed into the driver’s side and pulled the door shut with a loud creak, startling her. "Y'alright?" He asked her, adjusting his seat slightly backward and fussing with the mirrors. "Me? Oh I'm fine, you?" She she offered, her voice airy, distant. "Never better. Right then," he muttered, starting the car. He started the car, and Natasha looked at him, gesturing toward his seatbelt which remained in an unused position. She knew that he hated how it felt pressing into him, but she’d told him many times before that she’d rather he were uncomfortable and safe than comfortable and dead. He begrudgingly pulled the belt outward to fit across his stomach and clicked-it, giving Natasha a look that seemed to say, “you happy?” She laughed lightly, and he began to pull away.

Natasha was silent, pulling at an thread on the old door mindlessly. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Pierre asked, his voice coated in concern.

  
“You’re not coming to the reception, are you?” she replied bluntly.

The car was silent for a moment.

  
“I don’t… know if it’s best…I’m just a little worried is all.” Pierre said, his voice cracking a little.

  
“About what?”

  
“I’m just…not sure if I’d be able to resist, you know?”

  
“Oh. Oh, of course, that makes total sense…I'm sorry...I...” Natasha trailed off, a new thought coming to her, “I’d stay dry with you. Gladly. If it meant you’d come.”

  
“Tasha… I appreciate it. But you don’t have to do that, really,” he glanced toward her, catching her pulling despondently at the thread sticking out from the passengers side door. “We’ll see. I think I’m going to go home for a little bit, see if I can work up the nerve… I’ll try to come back.”

  
“No, I get it. If you don’t think you can do it, I totally understand. I’ll just miss you being there is all.” Pierre breathed in deeply, turning onto the old dirt road that lead back toward the house.

  
“Look, Pierre. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Nikki and Marya would understand, too,” Natasha noticed a guilty look cross his face, “Got that? Don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

  
She placed her hand on top of Pierre’s, which was lazily working the stick shift, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He gave a half smile.

  
He pulled up to the side of the house and parked the car, got out, and walked around to help Natasha out.

  
“Do what you need to,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek. Pierre's breath caught in surprise and he blushed. He handed Natasha her shoes, closed the door, and walked back toward the driver’s side. He noticed the look on her face, and sighed.

  
“I’ll text you if I’m not coming back, sound good?” he asked.

  
“Perfect,” she said, and he got back in the car and pulled away, back down the dirt road.

  
As he left, she watched, pulling her shoes back on, and her chest began to ache, though she could not reasonably decipher why.


	2. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As her curious eyes rounded the settings they finally came back to the entirely vacant seat next to her own. Mr. Pierre Bezukhov.

Natasha ate and danced and laughed, mingled and met with family members and old friends and discussed how happy she was for her brother and new sister-in-law. As the night wore on she lost her shoes and tied up her dress, and after spending hours on her feet, she sat back down at her table. She watched Marya and Nikolai as they moved throughout the room, greeting guests and chatting happily, only finding a few moments to themselves. Natasha noticed as she watched them through the evening that their hands rarely parted, and when they did they found their way back to each other soon after. They stood very near to each other, and there were times that even though the room was filled with people, she could tell that, to each other, they were the only ones present. It was a simple thing to observe, but Natasha felt it was the loveliest thing in the world.

She looked around her table, covered with shoes and purses and suit-jackets and now-rid-of ties, and noticed the small name cards at each seat. She peeked around the opposite side, reading the golden designations, picking out the names of her mother, her sister, and the Drubetskoy’s. As her curious eyes rounded the settings they finally came back to the entirely vacant seat next to her own. _Mr. Pierre Bezukhov._

Natasha had noticed aching that had begun in her chest early on only increased throughout the evening, realizing that it was a sense of longing for something unknown, and she felt it pulse through her as the night wore on. She hadn’t quite known what to make of it, and had worked to ignore it for most of the reception, but now as she sat alone at the table, the feeling came on stronger than ever.

She knew it was a feeling that would only be worsened by even a thin buzz, and she had refused all but the champagne toast, which she had only had a few sips of before the bubbles began to upset her stomach. Friends and family had offered her wine and assorted brews throughout the evening, but she held to her offer to Pierre, hoping that he would show up.

She pulled her phone out of her purse, checking for messages or missed calls, but there was nothing. _He must have fallen asleep_ , she thought, and tossed her phone back into her purse, leaning back into her chair. She found herself wishing he was there, knowing that even his presence would bring her comfort. She knew that it wasn’t likely that he would appear. She wasn’t upset with him for his absence-- she understood very well the need to stay away from things you’re worried you can’t resist. She sighed and noticed the upbeat line dance that was playing began to fade out, and the DJ came over the sound system.

“This song is a special request from the groom to the bride. Find someone you love and bring them onto the dance floor for this one.”

She heard a familiar crooning voice come over the tent and watched as Nikolai pulled Marya into a close, slow swaying dance.

The aching was beginning to become unbearable, and Natasha found herself staring down at her hands, holding back tears, unsure of the cause of their presence. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, feeling a small, hot tear roll down her cheek, and was somewhat startled when she felt a rather large hand take one of hers.

“May I...may I have this dance?” the familiar, deep voice asked, and Natasha looked up, straight into Pierre’s eyes

She stood and immediately pulled him into a close, tight embrace, one of her hands resting on the nape of his neck, and after a moment he reciprocated. The aching in her chest eased, replaced by a warm, fluttering feeling, and she welcomed the change.

“Are you alright, Tasha?” Pierre asked quietly.

“I’ve just...I’ve been feeling weird,” she said, pulling back to look at him, “Of course, I’d love to dance.”

He took her hand, guiding her out onto the floor.

They danced for a moment in silence, Pierre’s right hand placed very properly on the high part of Natasha’s waist, Natasha’s left on his shoulder, and their other hands clasped tightly together. They swayed in time with the lazy beat of the drum, looking at each other.

“Have you had a good time so far?” Pierre asked, breaking the silence.

“For the most part. I missed having my best friend here, for sure.”

“I’m sorry. I should have come earlier, I feel so terrible about it.”

“Don’t,” Natasha replied, sternly but kindly, “Nikolai and Marya understood. I told them and they said that whatever you needed to do was what was right.”

He gave a half smile, but Natasha saw the guilt dancing in his eyes again.

“I wish I wasn’t like this,” he muttered, “I wish I was better than this.”

“Healing takes time, Pierre. I think you that told me that. And as for being better? I don’t know anyone better than you. You’re just...human is all. Sorry to tell you, but it’s something we all have to deal with in our own way.”

His smile returned, genuine and sheepish.

“Thanks Tasha. Thanks for just...understanding.”

“I will say, though I would never have been disappointed in you for staying home, I am proud of you for coming. That’s a big thing.”

“I’m glad I’m here,” he declared, “I would have been upset to have missed this. The...reception I mean...”

Natasha smiled and pulled herself in closer, resting her head on Pierre’s chest.

“I wouldn’t want to miss this either.”

The song continued and they swayed, and Natasha noticed that Pierre was humming softly to the music. He began to sing on the final few lines, low enough so that only Natasha could hear.

> _“Take...my...hand…_  
>  _Hmmmm…._  
>  _For I...can’t help…_  
>  _Falling in love with…_  
>  _You…_  
>  _For I can’t help…_  
>  _Falling...in love...with…_  
>  _You…”_

As the song began to fade, Natasha moved her head from Pierre’s chest, looking up into his eyes, and she felt time and the universe drift away, leaving only herself and Pierre, and the growing warmth of the fluttering in her chest.

They stayed like this for a moment, entranced by the other, and were pulled back to reality only by the eruption of applause from the wedding guests surrounding them. The pair chuckled, pulling away from each other, Pierre shoving his hands in his pockets, Natasha smoothing out her dress. Pierre’s face became thoughtful and indistinct.

“Well,” Natasha managed, straining a little.

“Um...yeah. I um...need some water,” Pierre said, breaking his gaze with Natasha, “I’ll be back.”

“Oh, sure,” Natasha said, sensing a shift, “Um, I have to go check on something real quick anyway, go ahead.”

Pierre turned, walking awkwardly away, shaking his head, and Natasha turned, walking back to her table confused.

The aching returned, and the further she walked away the stronger it got. It pulsed through her, filling her whole body, pounding in her eardrums, like some kind of internal alarm waking her up.

_Oh._

The aching, Natasha realized, had disappeared entirely with Pierre, replaced by the beautiful, fluttering feeling that she wished would never end. It made her feel nervous and content and like she was flying, and the further away she got from dancing with Pierre, the closer she came to crashing into the ground.

_Of course._

Natasha stopped, the realization washing over her completely now, and turned on her heel back toward the direction Pierre had left. She began walking, her pace quickening with each step, turning into a jog, and then a sprint. She searched the crowd for him, weaving feverishly through the crowd.

But it seemed he was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She glanced around the room again, hoping to see him. She didn’t.

Natasha stood still, breathing heavily.

She looked toward the bar, but decided against it.

She looked toward the dance floor, but didn’t feel any reason to enter it.

She glanced around the room again, hoping to see him. She didn’t.

She picked up her dress and walked out of the tent, her feet carrying her to she-didn’t-know-where. As she walked she dug her toes into the grass and felt the dew coat them, bracing and soothing. She wandered further and further across the lawn, the sounds of the reception fading as she moved, turning into a low hum.

She came upon the small hill that lead downward to the pond, sat, and looked up. Taking in the brilliant twinkling of the sky above, exceptionally clear and exceptionally beautiful, she picked through planets and pulsating cepheids, and searched the heavens for answers. She watched the clouds, gathering in greater numbers than they had in the day, pass quickly over the moon, and noticed that once they cleared, the moon was particularly vibrant and scintillating this evening, casting a light in the darkness that was so beautiful, tears began to brim in her eyes.

Natasha wondered how she could have been so ignorant of her own feelings. She thought back over the past year, and began to recognize every ache she ever felt; the particularly tireless fear she felt in the weeks he was missing, every time he left her after a day spent together, every time she couldn’t describe to him what she felt-- she recognized them all as aches of dissatisfaction, the kind of ache that originates in one heart that yearns to beat together with another, knowing full well that it cannot happen, that it is not the time. A heart that yearns for love.

Love growing from a dear friendship is always unexpected. It is sneaky, taking its time, working the quiet hours, weaving itself into every late night conversation and stolen glance. But the more she looked back over everything, the more Natasha realized that, though she hadn’t realized it before, she had been in love with Pierre for a very, very long time.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, the air crisp in contrast with the warm afternoon they had been lucky enough to have. She shivered, noticing acutely the bareness of her arms

Ten minutes went by. Then twenty. Then thirty.

And as Natasha rose to go home, she noticed a silhouetted figure walking down by the pond, coming to the water’s edge and sitting down, the somewhat distant sound of cracking joints accompanying the action.

_Pierre._

She stood for a moment, unsure of what to do, but quickly found that once again her feet were making the decision for her. She made it soundlessly down the hill, carefully avoiding the crunch of fall leaves and fallen twigs, and was about to approach PIerre when her mind regained control.

_He doesn’t want to see you _, Natasha._  He obviously wanted to be alone._

A flood of embarrassment filled her, turning her face hot, causing her to turn quickly, roll on her ankle, and topple to the ground. She yelped as she fell, and Pierre’s voice called up to her.

“Hello? Who is that, are you okay?”

Natasha laid there for a moment, face down, and she chose not to answer, hoping he wouldn’t be able to see her. The sound of his footsteps jogging up to check on her, however, let her know that wasn’t going to be the case.

“...Natasha?”

“Hi, Pierre,” Natasha said, her face still positioned downwards, knowing that her embarrassment would be all too evident on her face.

“Oh my goodness, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. My ankle hurts a little. My dignity is doing much worse,” she grumbled as she spit grass out of her mouth.

“Hm. Come on, let me help you out.”

Pierre offered his hand and helped her into a seated position, and then sat next to her, his joints cracking again, noisier than before.

“You don’t mind, do you? If I sit here?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said, patting the patch of grass next to her.  

“Why are you out here?”

Natasha looked down toward the grass and tucked her feet under the skirt of her dress. She gave a shrug.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, his voice dripping with concern. Natasha found herself slightly annoyed.

“Why did you--...never mind,” she huffed, pulling her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin.  

“What?” he asked earnestly. Natasha looked over at Pierre, and his eyes bore into hers.

“Why… why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” She said, changing her mind.

“Oh. It was an impulse decision. I was walking around the block, just kind of doing a lap, clearing my head, and I realized I...I shouldn’t be missing this. And I felt okay, I felt good even, so I started walking back over. I was halfway here before I realized I hadn’t messaged you. I’m sorry.”

She looked away again, and this time placed her forehead on her knees.

“What?” Pierre asked again, realizing that Natasha was still upset, “What is it?”

She took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled, bringing her head back up, looking straight ahead at the pond, being very careful not to look at Pierre, knowing she would lose her nerve if she did.

“Where did you go? Just now after… why did you leave? I thought…” she trailed off, “...I don’t know…”

“Ah,” he replied. He re-adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, searching for the words.

“I thought…” he started, blinking furiously, his cheeks hinting at damask as he continued, “I don’t know I... thought that...I made a bit of an idiot of myself. Dancing. And with the song and… I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and if I made you uncomfortable I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just--”

“You weren’t,” Natasha said, cutting him off. He stared at her, bewildered.

“I wasn’t…?”

“You weren’t making an idiot of yourself” she clarified.  

Their gazes locked on each other.

“Oh,” he said, understanding.

After a few moments of silence, Pierre spoke again.

“You look cold,” he said, noticing the goosebumps that were raised prominently on Natasha’s arms.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes still locked on Pierre, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Here,” Pierre offered, and he pulled his suit jacket off, placing it gently over her shoulders. His arm lingered for a moment. As it did, Natasha moved closer to him, pulling herself under his arm and settling her head on his chest.

He let out a soft sigh.

They were quiet for a short while.

“The sky, the moon. Everything is incredible tonight,” she mused, turning her head upward.

“Yeah...it is,” Pierre managed.

Natasha lifted her head, and saw that he was not looking at the stars. Her eyes met with his again, their faces inches apart, and Natasha felt the tip of her nose touch Pierre’s.

“Tasha?” a voice called out, “Tasha where are you? If you left without saying goodbye, I’ll noogie you I swear to GOD.”

“I’m fine, Nikki, I’m still here, I’ll be back up in a moment,” she called back, remaining exactly where she was.

“Good. Wouldn’t be cool of you to duck out on your brother on his wedding day, just saying,” she heard Nikolai chuckle, and he turned and walked back into the tent.

  
Pierre and Natasha were still unbearably close.

“We’d better go back up,” she said quietly.

“Right...right,” was all Pierre could manage.

Another moment passed.

“Right…” Natasha said, and abruptly stood up. Pierre remained on the ground, and Natasha leaned down, offering a hand. He accepted it, and as he stood up, her hand began to leave his and she started walking away. He gently tightened his grip and pulled himself toward Natasha.

“Tasha, wait,” he said, loosening his grasp, “I’m sorry, did I hurt your hand?”

“No, but what did you--”

“Could I just...could I ask you something?” the words rushed from his mouth so quickly that they almost didn’t sound real to him.

“...sure….”

“I don't know if this is the right place to ask you this...but I swear if I don't say something soon…” he took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully.

“Look, Tasha,” he began, his voice shaking “I know I'm an idiot--"

“That’s not true--”

“Please. Tasha. I just have to say this all at once or I never will.”

Natasha nodded, urging him to continue.

“I’m an idiot. I am. I’ve wasted so much time. So much. But... I have to ask if… hypothetically...if a man like me...loved you...and he told you that he loved you... could...could you love him?"

A soft smile passed over her face.

“Pierre…” she whispered.

She looked him over; he was breathing shallowly, his jaw was locked, his hands were fidgeting.

She let out a small, quiet laugh.

“...I already do.”

“Wait, what?” he asked, shock and disbelief coursing through every vein in his body, pulsating, telling him that can’t be true. But she smiled again. And she shrugged.

“Sorry,” she said, her smile growing, threatening to take her over, “Nothing I can do.”

Pierre laughed, nervous and shaking, and Natasha joined him, an infectious joy spreading between them. After a moment, they became quiet again.

A small strand of hair had fallen in Natasha’s face while they laughed, and he tucked it behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek.

He leaned forward, cautiously, slowly, and Natasha did the same. They stopped, barely touching, their lips grazing each others. Both of them were breathing heavily, warmth and contentment passing between them. Everything, Natasha thought, was just as it should be in this moment, and as Pierre closed the gap, every ache in her body dissipated, replaced by that same feeling she felt during their dance. She was flying, and the movement of his hand on her face, down her neck, down to her waist pulling her in closer to him, every beautiful second of his lips on hers propelled her, an Icarus flying higher and higher with no sun to bring her down.

The whole world was only the sky, the moon, the stars, and Pierre, flying with her.

He pulled away and rested his forehead on hers, the pair breathing in time with each other.

“God,” he said between breaths,”You don’t know how long…”

She kissed him again, softer this time, and brought her forehead back to his.

“I do,” she said. “We should...go back up…”

“Right, but just, really quickly--” he said, and leaned back down once more, kissing her slowly, his lips spreading into a wide grin on hers, the two unable to keep themselves from laughing every now and again. Pierre pulled apart from Natasha once more.

“Okay, now we can go.”

Natasha laughed and started up the hill, her hand still in Pierre’s. They crossed the field, the sounds of the reception growing louder and louder, light returning brighter than ever.

  
They weaved through the many guests, searching for Marya and Nikolai, Natasha asking Pierre to peer over the hordes of people that packed the tent.

“He’s by the cake,” he told her, and she walked forward still, her hand still in Pierre’s, fingers now interlaced, leading him over.

“Pierre!” Nikolai yelled, noticing his head bobbing about the crowd. As Pierre came closer, Nikolai noticed Natasha walking in front of him. As he did, Marya began to hit his stomach, glee present in all of her features. Natasha saw Marya lean to whisper something in Nikolai’s hear, and as she did a grin began to spread across his face. He gave Natasha the same knowing look he had earlier on in the day, only this time Natasha’s only response was to grin back at him.

“I was afraid you’d left, Tasha. And Pierre! I thought you were only stopping in for a moment, didn’t know you stayed.”

“Yeah, I stayed...” Pierre responded, still in a happy daze.

“Well,” Nikolai continued, “Our ride’s about to be here. I trust you’re both in good hands for the night?” he asked, his grin turning sly.

“Do either of you need a way home?” Marya inquired, ignoring Nikolai’s mischievous question.

“No,” Natasha said, “Pierre walked here and… I mean, my apartment is on the way so... I’ll just walk with him.”

Marya smiled, glancing at Pierre for confirmation, and as he nodded she turned to Nikolai.

  
“Well, husband, I think we’ve done all the damage we can do here, don’t you?”

“I’d have to say so,” Nikolai replied, and as he kissed Marya, the DJ announced the arrival of their car.

“Head on out to the driveway to say ‘bon voyage’ to the bride and groom!” she said, letting the music fade.

Pierre and Natasha followed Nikolai and Marya, pushed lightly by the crowd toward the front of their home.

As they got into the car, Natasha could faintly hear their conversation.

“Finally,” Marya whispered, unable to contain her excitement.

“It’s about time, to be honest,” Nikolai replied, and as they leaned out of the limousine window to wave, the car pulled away, taking the newlyweds off toward their bliss.

Natasha and Pierre’s hands were still clasped firmly together.

“Where to now?” he asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

Natasha stood on her tiptoes and kissed him once more, the rest of the world and their opinons insignificant to her compared to the look in Pierre’s eyes. “Anywhere. If you’re there, I’m there.”

Pierre beamed, and kissing her forehead, turned toward the path that lead away from the old Rostov home.

Hand in hand they walked forward, chatting and laughing, moving happily into a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. Let me know what you think!
> 
> Written with love,
> 
> Erin


End file.
